The Island

by Amy Cross

  A moment later, I hear footsteps trudging through the undergrowth.

  “Told you,” Jude continues. “They're after the new arrival, but we got to her first. They probably want her meat.”

  I wait, but the footsteps don't seem to be coming closer. If anything, I think they're heading to the east, away from the ridge of rocks.

  “Do you think we could take them on?” she asks. “There's two of us and only three of them. I like those odds.”

  “No,” I whisper, “we're not fighting anyone, there's no need. Just wait and keep quiet, and hopefully they'll move on.”

  “But -”

  “For all we know, they could be real hunters,” I reply, turning to her. I can't see her, but I can feel her hot breath against the side of my face and her warm, naked body pressed against mine. “We only fight when it's necessary,” I continue. “Besides, you've got more than enough meat. It'll take you a week to eat it all. You've got more than you can possibly carry.”

  We wait in silence for a few more minutes, and eventually we hear the voices calling to one another again, much further off this time. Jude was right, they're trying to find the new arrival and they're most likely heading along the river, figuring she went that way. After a few more minutes, I finally start to relax as it becomes clear that we're not going to have to deal with intruders.

  “Are they gone?” Jude whispers.

  “Yeah, they're gone.”

  “So we can make some noise again?” I feel a warm hand on my waist, moving down to my crotch.

  “Not now,” I reply, pushing her hand away.

  She laughs, sniffing hot air onto my shoulder.

  “We should sleep,” I continue, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. I swear, in the couple of months I've known Jude, I've tried to overlook some of her darker habits. Still, I'm finding myself more and more disturbed by her love of human meat. One of the reasons I'm worried about setting up a town with her is that I know she'd want to keep her diet as it is, whereas I'd want to set out proper rabbit traps. There are some differences between us that can be set aside while we're living on our feet, but we'd have to deal with them if we put down roots.

  “So we'll talk about the town idea some more tomorrow, yeah?” she asks, letting her fingertips brush the top of my thigh, as if she still hopes to get me in the mood. “You know, if we play it just right, we could even try to find some kids to look after.”

  “Kids?” I ask, surprised by the suggestion.

  “To raise as our own. We could teach them, and establish a lineage. Wouldn't that be amazing? We'd have, like, our own legacy!”

  “You're serious, aren't you?” I reply, realizing that she genuinely wants to settle down and end our wandering lifestyle. “You and me? Parents?”

  “I always used to dream about having kids before I came to the island,” she continues. “Does that surprise you?”

  “Kind of,” I admit.

  “I'm just thinking about the future,” she adds, snuggling closer to me under the blanket. “I've been here longer than you, remember? I've been on the island for a whole year. I'm starting to think about more than just surviving from one day to the next. I want to build something that lasts, something that'll still be around when we're just two piles of crumbling old bones.” She pauses, and then I feel her fingertip tracing a line on my bare left shoulder. “Steadfall.”

  “Jude -”

  “When are you gonna tell me what this tattoo means?” she asks. “It must be important to you if you got it inked. What is Steadfall?”

  “Just a place I used to go when I was a little kid,” I reply, feeling a punch of longing to the gut. “It doesn't exist anymore.”

  “But -”

  “Can we drop it?” I add, reaching around and pushing her hand away. “I thought we agreed, no small-talk about the past. Things that happened before the island don't matter anymore.”

  I wait for a reply, but finally I feel her hand resting on my waist again. “You'll tell me one day,” she whispers. “Take your time, though. When you wanna tell me what Steadfall was, just let me know.”

  “Sure,” I whisper, staring out at the dark night sky. I can't admit it to Jude, but I still catch myself dreaming about the old world sometimes. I know it's impossible, and I know I voluntarily signed away all my rights, but I can't stop wondering whether someday, somehow, I might be able to go home. And every time those thoughts enter my mind, I immediately hate myself for being so stupid and weak.

  I'll die on the island. I know that much.

  Chapter Eleven

  Iris

  “Transit's tomorrow,” Marietty mutters as she stumbles past me on her way to the toilet. “I'm not looking forward to going down into the mines again. Won't see sunlight for six months, won't breathe a lungful of air that isn't filled with dust particles. Trust me, it's the little things that get to you when you spend all your time underground. I swear last time, when I finally came up, I couldn't remember what the sun looked like. That's not even an exaggeration, I literally couldn't remember the sun or the sky or any of that crap.”

  “I can't go down there for six months,” I reply, turning to her just as she pulls her pants down and sits on the toilet. I immediately look away, although a few seconds later I hear her start peeing. I should be used to this by now. “There has to be a way to make them see that.”

  “Sorry,” she continues, “but it doesn't work like that. Everyone in this wing of the prison is going down to the mines tomorrow. They've gotta send us away, so these cells are free for the next poor bastards who get arrested.”

  “Why do they even need to send people down?” I ask. “Can't the machines do it?”

  “The thing about machines,” she replies, as she finishes, “is that when they break down, they have to get repaired, and repairs cost time and money. When one of us breaks down, we don't even have to get brought back to the surface. The bodies just get left down there, shoved into a side corridor.”

  Hearing the toilet flush, I turn to her just as she heads back to her bunk and sits down.

  “I've been to the mines three times already,” she explains. “Swore I'd never go back after the last time, but here I am. I guess maybe this is just how my life's gonna turn out, right? That's the thing around here. They reckon nine out of ten people who down to the mines once, end up going again. It's a vicious circle. I've kinda accepted it now, but I wish I could go back and stop myself the first time. That's the only chance you've got, but it's too late now for both of us. Sometimes I think I can understand those crazy bitches who choose to go to the island instead, but I'm not quite at that stage yet. Maybe one day, if I get real desperate.” She watches me for a moment. “You're gonna have to toughen up, though. You won't last in the mines, not with that doe-eyed look all the time.”

  “I'm not some kind of idiot,” I tell her. “I can look after myself, I just...” I pause, thinking of Della in some state-run orphanage, shivering with fear on a bed in the corner of a dormitory filled with other girls. “I can't go down there,” I continue after a moment. “I have to get back to my sister.”

  “Too late for that,” she replies. “You should've thought about your sister before you got caught, shouldn't you?”

  ***

  “You haven't lived,” the loud woman says as she and two of her friends come into the washroom, “until you've seen some poor bastard get her head crushed by a landing machine. The way all the brains n'stuff ooze out through the cracks in the skull... It's properly sick.”

  I try to ignore them, but I can see out the corner of my eye that they've already noticed me.

  “I saw one bitch trip and fall against a padded heater,” the woman continues. “She ended up with her head pressed right against the main plate, and you know how hot those get, right? No-one was gonna risk going close enough to pull her clear, so she just lay there sizzling until finally her eyes popped out of her head real sudden. You ever seen someone's eyes cook like an egg?”

  A
s I wash my face, I can't help thinking about Bran and his friends. I've always avoided spending too much time with them, mainly because I was worried that one day they'd get caught and then I'd be linked with them. Bran has always been interested in fringe politics, and lately he's been talking more and more about some pretty crazy ideas. I even agree with him from time to time, but even a fool knows that nothing's ever going to change. Bran and his friends might have their little manifestos, but I only care about my own ten year plan. Getting caught and coming to jail was never part of that plan, but I can still get back on track. I just need to get out of this place and find Della again.

  I can't betray Bran, though. I can't become that kind of person, and yet... I think that's exactly what I have to do.

  “You a first-timer?” the loud woman asks.

  It takes a moment before I realize she's talking to me. When I turn to her, I see that she's watching me with a hint of amusement in her eyes. I guess I stand out like a sore thumb in a place like this.

  “I -”

  “First time in the mines, I mean,” she continues, turning to the mirror. “I can almost smell it on you.”

  “I'm not a first-timer,” I stammer.

  She laughs. “Jesus, girl, you're a terrible liar.”

  “You ever seen someone get her head crushed?” she asks.

  “No, of course -”

  “You will,” she tells me, leaning closer to the mirror as she examines her teeth. “You'll see it plenty down there. Unless you end up being one of the ones it happens to. Then you'll just see our sick faces staring at you, watching you die.” She starts scratching at something in her mouth. “I always wonder what it's like for those poor bastards in the final seconds before they click off. You know, when the machine pushes down on their skull and it starts to crack, and their brain gets ready to burst out the sides. How much do they really know?” She chuckles at the idea. “Life's cruel sometimes, but it's pretty funny too.”

  Not really knowing what to say, I start drying my face. I need to get back to my bunk so I can think properly. There has to be some other way to avoid going to the mines, something that doesn't involve betraying anyone. My hands are shaking as I set my towel down.

  “Jesus,” the woman next to me continues, “I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so goddamn scared.”

  “I'm not scared,” I reply, although my voice is trembling.

  “You're a bad liar, too,” she adds. “If this is how you are tonight, how much worse will you be in the morning when we all walk to the transport ships, huh? You know fainting won't do you any good, right? I tried faking that once, didn't help at all. They just scoop you up and load you in anyway.”

  “I know,” I stammer, feeling light-headed. After a moment, I turn to her. “I overheard you talking the other day,” I tell her. “You mentioned the orphanage in sector F.”

  She frowns. “What about it?”

  “You said you grew up there.”

  “And? You got a problem with that?”

  “What's it like?” I ask. “I mean, is it... Could a girl grow up in one of those places and be okay? Could she turn out fine and maybe have a future, if she was smart and good and obeyed all the rules?”

  The woman stares at me for a moment, before a faint smile crosses her face. Finally, she holds her arms out, as if she's about to hug me. “Well I turned out just fine, didn't I?”

  “But I mean...” I pause, feeling a growing sense of panic in my chest. “If a little girl got taken to one of those places, isn't it possible that she'd be looked after properly? Isn't there a chance that she'd be better off there than on the streets?” I take a deep breath as I try to convince myself that it's true, that Della's got more of a chance in a place like that. It's not going into the mines that scares me, it's the idea of my little sister being out there all alone, but I guess maybe I've been too self-centered. Maybe Della's better off without me.

  “I'll tell you what the orphanages are like,” the woman says, stepping closer to me. “I went in at the age of twelve, and I spent four years there. Do you know what kinda person gets put in charge of the kids in those places?”

  “What kind of person?” I ask.

  “The bad kind,” she replies, with a hint of pain in her eyes. “The kind who see a scared little girl and realize they can do anything they want to her, because no-one'll ever care. The kind who have unnatural urges, and who need a place they can act out their fantasies without getting caught. Not all of them are so bad, but the ones in sectors E, F, G and H are notorious. Any girl who goes into one of those... Well, let's just say there's a reason most kids from the orphanages end up the jail cells, and then in the mines, and then their lives just kinda fade to nothing. If they don't get killed along the way.”

  “But a smart girl -”

  “Would get it even worse,” she continues. “Not just from the people in charge, either. I haven't even mentioned the other kids in those places, but they're even worse. Filled with fear and anger, realizing their lives are shot. Who do you think they take it all out on?”

  “But there are rules, aren't there?” I stammer. “You're exaggerating, it can't really be that bad.”

  “It can't?” Smiling, she takes a step back. “Okay, you know what? I'll give you a little demo of what happens to smart girls in one of those orphanages. We'll role-play, you're the smart girl and I'm the kid who's been around for a while.”

  “No,” I reply, “please, just -”

  “This is what happens.”

  Before I can reply, she steps toward me, grabbing my head and smashing it against the mirror. As glass shatters and falls everywhere, I'm pulled back and slammed against the wall. Stumbling, I turn just as the woman slips a piece of broken glass between two of her fingers and forms a fist.

  “You starting to get the idea yet?” she asks, before punching me in the neck, driving the shard of glass deep into my flesh. As I gasp and blood erupts from the wound, the woman leans closer to me. “This isn't even the worst of it!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Asher

  “The coast?” Jude replies, clearly surprised as we start gathering our meager belongings for the journey. “Why should we go to the coast?”

  “It's the only part of the island we haven't really explored,” I point out.

  “For good reason. The coast's a bad place, I've heard stories about it.”

  “So have I, but I figure that's as good as reason as any to go and take a look. It's not like you can rely on people to be honest around here.” Tying the top of the tunic-bag, I haul it onto my shoulder and turn to look out across the morning sky. I thought there was going to be rain last night, but none came and I'm starting to think I'm not very good at predicting the weather. Still, there are dark clouds on the horizon, and they seem a little closer this morning. A storm's coming, it's just a question of when.

  “It'll rain when they want it to rain,” Jude mutters.

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “You know how it is,” she continues, coming over to join me at the mouth of the cave. “They say they don't interfere with life on the island, but that's bull. I bet they control the weather.”

  “Conspiracy theories?” I reply, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  “They can't not interfere, it's in their nature. I know they give us this big speech about how we're beyond their reach when we come to the island, and beyond their sphere of influence and all that garbage, but I'd bet you any money that they still keep an eye on us. Even if it's just out of curiosity, although I wouldn't be surprised if they're piping footage of us into the living rooms of every rich asshole in the city. It's human nature.”

  “Careful,” I tell her, “you're starting to sound paranoid.” When I turn and look into her eyes, I can see that she's not joking. “There aren't even any cameras.”

  “They're hidden.”

  “Where?”

  She shrugs. “Beats me.”

  “Nothing ever ha
ppens,” I continue. “Don't you think they'd try to make it exciting? There was that show years ago, the one about the people living in a remote location somewhere in South America, and the producers were always throwing stuff at the contestants to create drama. All we do on this place is wander about, trying to avoid trouble.” I can't help smiling as I realize that she doesn't believe a word I'm saying. “We really are all alone out here, I'm sure of it. If there was anything to suggest otherwise, I'd be the first to notice, but there isn't.”

  “Whatever,” she mutters, grabbing a piece of meat and biting into it. “If you want to be naive, that's your choice.”

  “Naive? No-one's ever called me that before. They -” Stopping suddenly, I watch as she tears a strip of meat from the chunk, while thick red blood dribbles down her chin. Feeling nauseous, I have to turn away.

  “Want some?” she asks with her mouth full.

  “No thanks.”

  “It's tasty. That woman we killed last night was pretty soft and tender. Come on, why go hunting rabbits when there's a stack of perfectly good meat sitting here? Doesn't matter where it came from, does it? Meat's meat. Hell, I can't eat it all, most of it'll go bad before I get a chance.”

  “I'm fine.”

  “Everyone does it, you know. Almost everyone. There's nothing wrong with having a little human meat in your diet. You've just gotta stop over-thinking things.”

  I turn and see that she's holding out a handful of juicy red meat toward me.

  “Shoulder,” she explains with a faint smile, and with blood smeared around her mouth. “It's good for you. Don't tell me you're not feeling weak, Asher, 'cause I can see it in your eyes. Get some of this inside you, you'll feel ten times better in just a few minutes.”

  “Keep it,” I tell her. “I'll pick up a rabbit or something along the way.”

  ***

  A couple of hours later, as we trudge through the forest with our heavy bags over our shoulders, I still haven't managed to catch anything to eat. I'm starving, of course, but at the same time there's no way I can ever be like Jude and start eating human meat. I don't know why, but I'm just not wired that way, and even the thought of it makes me feel sick to my stomach.